


Orbital Body

by zjofierose



Series: Zjo's zine fics [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (those two tags are unrelated for the record), Demisexual Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sexual Fantasy, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Unrequited Crush, soft dom shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22453600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Generally speaking, Keith considers sexual desire to be primarily an inconvenience. Surprise boners are embarrassing and difficult to hide; wet dreams are satisfying in the moment, but mean having to do extra laundry; people hitting on him (rare though it is) always creates a social situation he feels poorly equipped to handle.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Zjo's zine fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503608
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	Orbital Body

**Author's Note:**

> So grateful for the chance to write for the Per Aspera Ad Astra zine! This was my little piece for the NSFW add-on - I hope you like it!
> 
> Many thanks to verity for the beta!
> 
> Please see notes at the end for tag/warning clarity.

Keith’s roommate has gone home for the winter holidays, which leaves Keith in the very unusual situation of having a room all to himself for several weeks. It’s a novel experience, even beyond his life at the Garrison, and it feels like something he should know how to appreciate. 

He supposes it’s boring of him to not go wild and strew his things all over the room, or leave his towel on his roommate's bed, or whatever else it is that you’re supposed to do when the person who shares a closet-sized space with you is gone. But he doesn’t have that many things in the first place, and also he likes to keep them neat for his own benefit, regardless of regulation. He doesn’t like drinking, and he doesn’t have any friends besides Shiro, so throwing a party is out. And if he leaves his wet towel in a heap on his roommate’s bed or anywhere else it’ll still be damp the next time he uses it, and that’s only inconveniencing his own self. So. He’s left with the obvious.

Generally speaking, Keith considers sexual desire to be primarily an inconvenience. Surprise boners are embarrassing and difficult to hide; wet dreams are satisfying in the moment, but mean having to do extra laundry; people hitting on him (rare though it is) always creates a social situation he feels poorly equipped to handle.

He jacks himself in the shower on a regular basis as a matter of personal maintenance in the same way he washes his hair or trims his toenails. If he’s come recently enough, surprise boners and wet dreams aren’t really a problem, and he can get off quickly and easily just through physical stimulation. The low buzz of arousal, the casual electricity as his hand moves efficiently across his dick is almost a moment of zen, really - the water washes the mess cleanly away, and afterward he feels slightly more relaxed. He has yet to find a downside.

Crushes are likewise not a thing that Keith does. He’s been aware since puberty that he finds both everyone and no one attractive in a funny way: he can objectively appreciate good-looking people of any gender, but he never particularly feels any urge to  _ do  _ anything about it. He’s long since learned that most people will hurt you if you let them, so the idea of experimentation for its own sake is pretty much a non-starter. Thus, to date, his heart is untroubled by notions of romance and his wank sessions are blissfully fantasy free.

Enter Shiro.

It takes Keith at least a month to cotton on to what exactly’s going on with him. Even then he only gets it because Shiro takes his shirt off to demo some moves in gym class. When the boy on Keith’s left says “ugh, he’s so dreamy,” and the girl to his right says, “yeah, I wanna climb that like a fuckin’ tree,” Keith realizes abruptly that he wholeheartedly agrees with both statements, and well. That’s new. 

Rationally, he doesn’t actually want to do  _ either  _ of those things, much less let on that the thoughts have even crossed his mind, but apparently rationality has gone right out the window where Shiro is concerned. Suddenly, instead of passively observing that Shiro is devastatingly hot, Keith actively wants to do things about it. He catches himself imagining what it might be like to kiss Shiro (would it be warm and soft, or firm and wet, or… he doesn’t have enough frame of reference to speculate, he decides). He loses time staring out the window, spinning out pictures of confessing that Shiro’s his favorite person, watching breathlessly as an endearing flush rises in Shiro’s cheeks, as Shiro growls in his throat and steps toward him, as Shiro grips him by the hips and presses him against the wall. He falls asleep to thoughts of simply climbing into Shiro’s lap and never climbing back out, living the rest of his days in the overwhelming security of those strong arms, caught in the mouthwatering press of those heavy thighs. 

It makes things...complicated, to say the least. Shiro is his mentor and his friend, the kindest person Keith has known since his father’s death. The sun rises in Shiro’s smile, the stars twinkle in his gaze, and Keith is mortified by the thoughts that rise unbidden in his mind when he catches a glimpse of Shiro’s naked backside one day in the showers. It’s not his regularly scheduled wank day, he shouldn’t need this, but he slips into a shower stall and rubs one out before the memory can fade, caught on the way the lights reflected off the drops of water sliding down the curves of Shiro’s lower back. When Keith’s done, there’s none of the peace that he normally finds from his release; he can feel his dick limp in his hand, but there’s still arousal buzzing beneath his skin, images floating beneath the surface of his conscious thoughts. 

It’s miserable. He hates it.

It takes him a solid week afterward to get his behavior under control. He feigns a cold so as to not have to spend any extra time with Shiro, skipping gym class and lunch and sending his essays to Shiro to proofread over comms rather than meeting in person to discuss Shiro’s feedback. He practices in his room, talks to his mirror and pretends it’s Shiro, says nonsense sentences while picturing Shiro’s biceps, his thighs, his smile, until he can do it without blushing, without stammering. 

It’s not perfect - there’s no way to account for the actual tone of Shiro’s voice, or the scent of his soap and sweat when he pins Keith to the mats, but it’s enough that when Keith finally emerges he’s able to slide into an approximation of their usual interactions. He’d be less worried about it if it weren’t Shiro; Keith’s weird enough normally that he thinks most people would dismiss any oddities in his behavior as just that- oddities. But Shiro is not most people. He sees Keith. 

And yet, now, here he is, alone with an empty room and Shiro off for several days on a training mission over the ocean. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but once he commits to something, Keith never turns back, and he just wants to know what it would be like. Just once.

Keith lies down in his bunk, the sheets tossed to the side and a squeeze tube of the generic Garrison lotion at his side. He’s never jacked off in bed before, and it feels a little weird. It’s very exposed, even with the light off: Anyone could walk by and hear him, the door could open, there could be a drill. He gets up and double-checks the lock, makes sure his clothes and boots are within easy reach. No different than if he were in the shower, he tells himself, and lies back down.

He’s soft, but he slicks up his hand and reaches down anyway, gritting his teeth and dragging his mind to how Shiro had looked sparring with the instructor last week. He’s handsome even under the sharp gym lights, and he’d been in only a damp white undershirt and gym shorts, his tree-trunk thighs bared for everyone to see. Shiro laughing and glistening as he throws someone over his shoulder is enough to make even the straight boys and the lesbians question their Kinsey numbers, Keith knows, so he tries not to feel too guilty at what the image does to him. He bites his lip as he strokes his thumb up the length of his thickening cock. He’s not doing anything hundreds of other people haven’t done before him. 

Besides, he tells himself, Shiro  _ likes  _ to help him. He likes to see Keith happy, relaxed. His smile is broader when Keith smiles back at him, his laugh louder when Keith tells a joke. Maybe it would be awkward if Shiro knew (it would  _ definitely  _ be awkward if Shiro knew) but all Keith’s trying for here is simple, uncomplicated pleasure, and Shiro wants that for him. Shiro wants him to have that. 

Maybe Shiro wants to give Keith pleasure himself, Keith thinks, and his dick twitches in earnest. It’s easy to imagine, Shiro’s hand on his bare shoulder just like it is on the rare occasions they go swimming in the Garrison pool. The heat of his palm, the rough calluses on his fingertips and palms from the hoverbike and simulator controls. The way his voice sounds as he tells Keith he’s done a good job, that he’s proud of him.

Keith closes his eyes tight and pulls at himself, letting his fingers spread wide, letting his grip go hard as though the hand on him is larger, stronger. He grits his teeth as electricity shoots through his body at the motion, one leg pulling up on the bed at an angle, knee falling open as he keeps his speed slow and dirty. He imagines Shiro opening the door, looking for him. 

Shiro’s into guys; surely seeing Keith like this would make him feel  _ something _ , some spark of arousal, some gut-punch of lust. “Keith,” he’d say in surprise, his voice shocked but also thick with desire at the sight of Keith naked and sprawled out, fully exposed and hard, waiting for him. 

Keith groans at the thought of it, goosebumps rising in a tide across his skin. In his mind, Shiro comes closer, shutting the door behind him and crossing to the side of the bed before falling to his knees. “Oh, Keith,” he says, reaching out one hand to stroke along Keith’s cheek, to brush his hair back from his face, “look at you.” His tone is soft and awed, his hand gentle, but firm, and Keith turns his face on the chilly sheets, searching vainly for the contact. 

“So good,” Shiro whispers, “taking it slow, working yourself over.” He brushes a hand across Keith’s brow, wiping away the drops of sweat that are springing up in the wake of his torturous pace. “You’re always so good for me. So patient, so diligent.” He turns his gaze down to watch the movement of Keith’s fist as it drags from the base of his cock to the top, curling around the head before descending with a twist as Keith pants, open-mouthed. 

“Take your hand away,” Shiro in his mind tells him, and Keith whimpers as he forces his fingers open, leaving his dick red and bobbing in the chilled air. “Good boy. I know you like to rush, but I want you to take this slow. Really enjoy it.” Shiro’s gaze is delighted behind Keith’s eyelids as he leans in to press a kiss to Keith’s shoulder. “Breathe with me,” he says, and his huge hand comes down on Keith’s bare chest, palm warm and broad against Keith’s sternum, the reach of his fingers curling around Keith’s ribs as he shudders for air. “There you go. Let yourself sink into it. Good.” Shiro’s smile is nearly as blinding as the sensation that shoots through Keith as he obeys. “That’s it, now. Put your hand back, but loose. Tiny motions. Show me how much control you’ve learned.”

Keith follows Shiro’s voice, forcing himself into slow, shallow tugs, his fingers growing wet and slick with sweat and beaded anticipation. It comes on him fast, harder than he’s used to, the edge flying up to meet him before he expects it under Shiro’s watchful gaze. He twists on the bed, feet shuffling desperately against the mattress and free hand clutching at the pillow. “Shiro,” he whines, “Shiro, I need…”

“What do you need, baby?” Shiro prompts, his voice so kind, and Keith can feel tears starting in his eyes, but he doesn’t close his fingers, doesn’t speed up his motion. Shiro hasn’t said he could, and Shiro always rewards Keith’s patience. 

“I want,” he starts, and then he’s crying in earnest, his narrow hips rabbiting into the loose circle of his fingers, both too much and not nearly enough. “I want  _ you _ ,” he chokes out, and Shiro reaches out to wipe a tear from his cheek. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro tells him, “close your fist and let go. You’ve done so well for me.”

Keith wraps his hand around his cock and fucks frantically into it, his thighs leaving the mattress with the force of his thrusts until he’s coming apart, spilling over his fist and onto his stomach, his hips, dripping into his pubic hair and crying out a strangled sob as his body lights up like a crashing spaceship, and falling meteor, an exploding star. 

“Shiro,” he sobs, and he can’t say if the tears falling are relief or desperation even now.

“Hush,” Shiro tells him, bending to press a lingering kiss to Keith’s forehead even as his image begins to fade, the aftermath of his release shaking Keith’s body with lingering waves, leaving him splayed out and spent. “You’re such a good boy, and I’m so proud of you.”

“ _ Shiro _ ,” Keith whispers into the darkness, clinging to the echo of Shiro’s voice in his mind even as his body gives over and he fades into sleep. “Shiro, I…”

The empty room around him stands silent.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *the "underage" tag is used in compliance with AO3's guidelines, and refers to Keith (at around 16 or 17) indulging in masturbation


End file.
